


your halo slipping down (to choke you now)

by ScienceMachine



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Amphibian Skin, BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Body Horror, Cha Cha is a fucking Beast, Dark Klaus Hargreeves, Dead People, Dissociation, Gen, Ghost-Tale, Good Sibling Diego Hargreeves, Good and Evil, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Character Death, No Soulmate Plot, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Overly Researched, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Self-Denial, Self-Worth Issues, The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy) Need a Hug, Unreliable Narrator, don’t go around playing with your brain kids!, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceMachine/pseuds/ScienceMachine
Summary: "You know," Number Four whispered, "Hell doesn’t exist"The ghost stared in confusion, Klaus smiled pleasantly as he took another gulp of whiskey.…Number Four was born with a List on his mind and a Timer on his wrist.It was counting down.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 40
Kudos: 190





	1. Prologue - Number Four

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time trying to write something seriously.  
> i'm in over my head.

It was raining when he was born to loud voices and to a lost teenage mother. The crowd around the scared woman whispered ‘ _the child is dead, is dead, is dead_ ’ to each other, without caring about the poor girl's condition. Their suspicions were justified; the newborn was pale, small and still, his chest barely rising and falling.

Number Four, in contrast to his future self, was a tranquil baby. He didn’t gurgle, didn’t cry.

He was quiet as the _dead_.

Interest soon died down, and the onlookers abandoned the new pair to face a harsh world. Finally, the mother snapped from her shock and wailed, hugging the baby to herself while she rocked back and forth. They didn’t have an opportunity, the girl was poor and the track marks on her veins will not attract any mercy.

Her cries eased into whimpers, feeling fuzzy and drained she tried to move her arms and found she couldn’t. The girl half-heartedly studied the petite creature on her arms, a frown on her face. They were cute, and small, and silent. Their eyes had yet to open.

 _It’s a boy!_ She laughed bitterly to her insides.

She ignored the strange birth-mark on the inside of his wrist, unlike anything she had ever seen on this Earth. She chalked it up to his unconventional birth. 

The two were later kicked out of the shelter, without supplies or even food.

“It’s a _demon_!” Had screamed the caretaker.

Three days passed in between dealing with withdrawal, scrambling dumpsters for leftovers, and caring for her unexpected but not less precious gift. She had yet to name him, didn’t want to become attached only to lose her little hope.

Meanwhile a man, powerful and despicable, took a flight to Germany.

He found her rambling madly to both the air and the child feeding from her breast. The paserbyes gave them a wide verge, uncomfortable not with the teen but the penetrating gaze of her overly quiet child, looking at places unknown and forbidden to mortal men. The selfish man made an offer.

The mother was confused and terrified, but above all she wanted her baby and herself to have another chance at life, like any weak pest. A weak pest who embraced something far more valuable than her.

Money was exchanged.

(as the unnamed boy was handed to the stranger, he cried for the first time, reaching for his protector. even at the very beginning, he understood the Scripture.

she promised she would search for him once she got better.

the body of a woman was found three weeks later in an alleyway. it didn’t take long for the community to identify her. “ _poor creature_ ,” they said, “ _it was an overdose, she never got away from her habits_ ”

no one cared about the gunshot on her forehead)

Sir Reginald Hargreeves watched impassively as the baby met his gaze with empty eyes, green like poison. They held no defiance nor fire nor will, only contemplation and detachment.

Number Four will do perfectly.

The Timer began to count down.


	2. One - Universality of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -A lesson on Morality

Luther “Number One” Hargreeves didn’t remember a day in which he wasn’t in charge. The moon was no different, no matter how alone and unrestrained he was, and he conducted his life in an orderly way. As he should. As was moral.

His siblings had always depended on his ability to lead in order to _survive_ , so even if he wasn't a born leader, he always did his best and tried to listen to their ideas. Luther knew he wasn’t the best in the later since many of them conflicted with dad’s opinions, and dad knew best.

In his younger years, Luther had studied leadership theory and philosophy in his little spare time, skipping meals and time with Allison, to better himself and show his family he deserved the position dad gave him. He was perfect, he was moral, he was a leader.

He was Number One.

(he wasn’t fighting just as hard as the others for dad’s scraps of love and affection, at all.

 ~~_why didn’t dad love them unconditionally?_~~ )

Luther had been sending another update on his mission when the news arrived. He had stared at the message for almost a complete orbit, silent, and cold, and dreary. For a moment, Luther thought he had at last lost his mind to isolation.

Sir Reginald Hargreeves was dead.

No, he was murdered. Of that a grieving Luther was sure.

(why hadn't this pained him as much as Ben's death?

he wasn’t a bad son, was he?

if he didn’t love his father, then why did his heart _hurt_ so much? but not _enough_?)

Earth’s gravity felt strange on his stomach, on his bones and muscles. That didn’t stop him from running from the screaming cab’s door to the Academy’s entrance, where a sad Pogo met his desperate eyes and shaked his head once.

At his broken expression, Pogo offered his hand and, in a symbolic manner since not many people could handle his new weight, rose him to his feet. Wiping his face, he apologized to the cabbie and paid him double, before walking to his most painful mission head on.

The rest of the Hargreeves siblings arrived one by one, weary and tired from the trip and conflicting emotions. Diego took the easiest route and transformed all sentimentality into anger, Allison was Silence itself to show the truth of her melancholic expression. He imagined Five with a heavy frown, and Ben somber and gently gliding from one family member to another to make sure they were alright.

Oh, there was Vanya.

Carrying on, Luther searched for Klaus, not expecting much from the junkie. Not even the decency to attend his father’s funeral.

Making a gesture of disgust when his suspicions were confirmed, he headed to the study and then to his father's room. As he already knew in advance, something was missing. Father's monocle.

Sometime between his search and scrambling his brain for his thorough investigative lessons, Klaus had arrived. It was surprising the disaster of a man had paid respects in his own flamboyant way, dolling up with make up and Allison’s skirt, all in appropriate black. The silver bracelet, mom’s gift he never took off, that covered the strange birth-mark shining prettily on his right wrist.

Luther gave him the benefit of the doubt. His books told him he tended to be too judgemental and too thickheaded, thus he tried.

He voiced his suspicions, and was met with raised eyebrows and blank stares. It didn’t matter that they didn’t trust him, or admit to the murder, he was going to get to the bottom of this and get—

Closure he supposed.

(dad was _gone_ , and his sense of worth had been slipping away since he woke up to the wrong body)

Luther asked their resident medium to contact dad, only to be declined.

Of course the drug addict had _crippled himself_ with those habits of his. The irresponsibility, the _immorality_ of such an act was something you should expect from the depraved and those who became, who breathed, their vices. Father had **_wasted_ ** his efforts on Klaus.

Luther swallowed down the vitriol, it had not changed those vanalities in the past. It had made them _worse_.

And, at the end of the day, pests simply weren't worth it.

(that was what father always said about the birth mothers _who had sold them_.

they were lucky to have had a man like him.

he didn’t think about what type of person buys _babies_ )

Was it sad that a dancing sequence, that none of the siblings was going to comment about, was the most connection they have had in _years_? How far they had fallen.

They were supposed to be models of goodness, fairness, and justice. Those were the values they had been taught. He hoped that if he continued on doing his best to set a good example, they would try to follow him like a leading light. Like a leader. And they would finally make their father proud.

(and he would find purpose again — **_No_** )

No, he decided in aching delirium and sudden rage, their father deserved justice — no matter if the culprit was a family member. Despite the fact their training had sometimes gotten a bit _difficult_ , for a child to murder a caring parent was wrong on any context.

Murder in their situation wasn’t justified. It was reserved for the criminals who deserved it, the man who had wanted money for his poor family was an once in a lifetime mistake. Still, the robber had made an immoral action.

It too wasn’t justified. Luther needed to accept his guild and be _better_.

(He couldn’t just accept Five’s relativistic mindset on any particular subject nor the inexistence of morality. He couldn’t compromise either. There was right and wrong, good and evil.

 _Absolutist!_ Mocked the book under his bed)

Luther knew that fathers loved their children, and that Allison was the only one who understood ~~his need to survive~~ him. Parents were permitted some mistakes.

(“Number Five is having another convulsion, Sir” Said mom, a robotic yet kind smile on her face.

Reginald Hargreeves barely paused in his reading)

Speaking of the devil, Five just had to make a dramatic entrance, with blue lightning and everything. The attention seeker. Luther couldn’t help it but let a little smile grace his face, he had missed his younger — _older?_ — brother. And him being on his thirteen year old body just made the experience more exhilarating and strange.

But he didn’t have _time_ to catch up, he was a man on a mission.

Under the shadow of their umbrellas, they paid their respects. Or rather he, since Diego was being insulting to the point of sacrilege. Luther felt rage consume his being, and he just had to fucking punch the fucker on his stupid face. Diego gave as good as he got.

They punched and insulted and _hurt each other_ and _it felt so good_ , like old times, like coming home, like giving his misgivings and doubts an outlet. His irreverent brother getting what he deserved was the icing on the cake, and of course Luther got cut with a knife and of course they destroyed Ben’s statue.

Father had taught them control, and they disappointed him on the most important of days.

(he disappointed dad.

and Ben, poor Ben, who he had _failed_ because he had not followed dad’s instructions down to the letter.

it was what happened when he didn’t listen and yet _he had not learned his lesson_ )

Feeling numb to everything, Luther abandoned the dad’s favorite spot with his siblings. He thought there was something poetic about a bunch of broken people searching for shelter from a rainy, pouting, day at their father’s funeral.

After that, as norm dictated, Luther saw as his family dispersed and prepared himself to do what was right _alone_. Diego didn’t care for apologies or repairing their relationship, Klaus ran away to get high as humanly possible, probably pestering one of his siblings to take him away. Five went for coffee, not caring much for anything except his own foolish flairs for grandeur. Vanya was off doing whatever she did.

He stayed at home with only Allison for company, and didn’t need anyone else.

(he had lied about that place being father’s favorite spot.

as children, it had been their treasured haven to play tag and go on adventures. many of his fondest memories took place in that little garden. smiles and laughter were often associated with that patch of grass, and he had wanted the comfort.

they had sang _~is ticking down, ticking down~_ with Klaus’ quiet input, eyes mischievous and wild as nature.

Ben’s smile was always the _brightest_ )

Justice made a good and moral leader, Morality was Number One, and Number One was him.

Luther had always known he was a very foolish man. Would he have it any other way?

He was afraid to find the answer.

(Luther was Number One, a Leader, a Brother, a Superhero, a pillar of Morality. Father made him that way.

It was the answer he needed)

And thus, denial becomes the person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing self-centered pricks yet kinda redeemable characters is hard. Were the intrusive thoughts okay-ish? Is everything in character? How much does one word affect the impact of x sentence? How do I english? Why do I do this to myself? A nightmare, truly. But I liked the challenge and my kitty fell asleep on my lap, so it wasn’t so bad.
> 
> Kinda unsatisfied with the ending of this one, but after the third rewrite it was the best I was gonna get.
> 
> Since I cannot do serious, here are my alternative titles for this chapter:
> 
> -Denial is your best friend  
> -Luther’s adventures in identity crisis: Childhood abuse edition  
> -My capacity for auto-bullshit is over 9000: An autobiography
> 
> Choose your favorite!


	3. Two - Observe → Orient → Decide → Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -A lesson on Detachment.

Klaus had been acting strange since Five had literally reappeared in their lives. Well, not exactly strange per se — all of them needed time to adjust to the new circumstances of their old-young brother — it was more like a _shift_.

It gave an ancient quality to his demeanor, made him look… not wiser, but burdened with knowledge. His etherealism and disconnection amplified and reached levels they had only seen a couple of times.

Klaus overstepped whatever self-imposed boundaries he had and became _otherworldly_.

(those instances had made him question if Klaus’ power really was just seeing the dead,

but when he tried to remember the moments his brother had acted like this, his brain screeched into a halt, and then all he knew was _fear, dread, horror, need to stop, need to stop, redirect, abort, stop, stop,_ **_SHUT DOWN_** —

 _there was something deeply wrong with his childhood memories_ )

“He’s killed a lot of people, you know”

He shook his head. “Huh?”

“Five,” Whispered Klaus gravely. He put his _Hello_ hand on his face, bracelet glinting in the nightlight, and swallowed, “I saw them”

Diego had to pause for a moment as his whole world shifted on its axis again. “ Hold on. Didn’t you take drugs _to block that shit out_?”

He wasn’t the brightest of his family, he admitted begrudgingly that it would be Five, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t notice the obvious.

“Hell no, I can’t escape them” The junkie drummed his fingers against his track marks. “Drugs help me deal with it”

He sighed. “And Luther?”

“I didn’t need daddy of all people sticking his nose in my stuff, better to deal with him later”

“Fair”

He patted his narrow shoulder before giving him an awkward half-hug and promising they could have waffles tomorrow at the usual place. His brother jumped up and down in excitement, the nearby lampposts flickered in and out and casted shadows all over his ghostly face. The idiot even levitated some rocks.

As was custom, he blocked his brain to Klaus’ overenthusiastic cheer.

The siblings parted ways, and the vigilante was finally left alone to ponder. He snarled and put a hand on his chin. Feeling that his skin was not moist enough, he took a metal canteen from one of his pockets and sprayed water all over his face. Once he felt oxygen permeate his being, he examined the cuts from his fight with Luther, hating how his thin skin made callouses almost impossible.

Diego stared at the monocle and felt not so great memories come to the surface.

(“The respiratory center is responsible for making you breathe, Number Two” Said Reginald, hating the fact he had to explain this on such simple terms for the six year old. “It is why patients with COPD and chronic cigarette users can still perform the act at all. It also adjusts your rhythm to any imbalance the body may present. For example, if your blood’s pH lowers and it can not be compensated chemically… _Pay attention, Number Two!_ ” He snapped his fingers.

The distracted child jumped to attention. “I-I d-do-d-don’t und-understand”

If his father was the type to sigh in frustration, he would have done so. “Let us return to neuroanatomy. Where is the respiratory center located?”

The kid timidly pointed to the back of his head.

“That is the occipital lobe, Number Two” This time the man did indeed sigh. “We will begin again, and you better learn something, your progress has been absolutely shameful” He pointedly cleared his throat. “The hindbrain… ”)

It was fitting to be sitting near a lake for this kind of unwanted introspection. And felt like crying.

He felt a sliver of want to suppress his feelings, but he wanted to remember things also. More often than not he failed to find the specific structure, the specific neurons and receptors. The only thing he was an expert in stopping was his respiratory center, maybe because it wasn’t as vital thanks to his skin?

The brain was complicated like that.

(“Da-da, I can-c-ca-c” He was in the training room after another lesson he had not understood. He was crying and hyperventilating, his heart was too loud on his ears. Everything was _black_ and his head was _aching_.

He had cut off something _important_.

 _Dad, I cannot_ **_see_** _!_

But no more sound came out of his mouth. Next time, a shacking Number Two had paid attention)

In specially gruesome missions, he had cancelled his emotions. They were the worst ones, not only for the feelings of numbness and alienation, which were tolletable at the end of the day, but because he stopped being _Diego_.

(He in reality didn’t want to control his emotions, he wanted them to be free)

He knew that one of his major flaws was that he was quick to anger.

Anger was better than numbness, than a _loss of self_.

(He had learned sign language because it got tricky when his dad didn’t want him to feel emotions, he had learned to use a white cane because his dad didn’t want him to breathe)

Diego didn’t feel angry nor satisfied at his father’s death, he felt _tired_.

To stop the surge of bad thoughts and feelings, he tried to recall happy things.

(he remembered being with Klaus, they were eleven year olds who didn’t take shit for anyone.

they had been sitting on the couch — without dinner because their father was a bastard — when his brother, contemplating Five’s portrait, said out of nowhere, “do you think Five sees weird shit on his travels? like dinosaurs, or hurricanes, or a volcano go boom!” he stared at him with too wide eyes, “oh, _oh_ ,” he jumped on his heels, “what if he was there when Kennedy died?”

Diego snorted, “it’s always dead things with you, but i think he is happy being his assholish self”

he hummed, green eyes that seemed to glow — Diego assumed it was a trick of the light or the weird shit cats had that made their eyes look demonic — seeing weird places again, “Five always wanted a pet fish, was gonna name it 4-D”

“what the fuck does a pet fish have to do with time travel?” he had huffed, continuing to sharpen his knives)

Diego took a deep breath and let the monocle go.

He briefly considered taking a swim on the lake, however, the call for action was like an itch he needed to scratch, and so Diego took to the report on the police radio like a fish to water.

Griddy's Doughnuts greeted him with bittersweet memories and a bunch of bloody corpses. Not at all bothered by the scene, he entered the building and greeted the waitress, a lady about as old as the place itself. He showed the scared grandma his forged badge.

“I hope this is resolved soon,” she said anxiously. “Today was our new employee’s first day. I told her it was a secure neighbourhood”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, she went home early, I didn't want to overload her too much” The lady laughed nervously. “I don't know where she lives exactly… but you could come and ask her tomorrow,” the waitress paused. “If she doesn’t quit”

He grunted his assent and slipped away quietly to better investigate the scene before the police arrived. Maybe Eudora could help him.

Or not, “Shit. Hang on, let me—”

Good to know she still carried her taser around.

Diego tried to convince her to investigate more closely, his gut was telling him there was something fishy about all this. Detective Patch of course decided to ignore common sense.

After being released, Eudora told him to screw up. He knew that she believed in the justice system, and he had always admired that part of her. The streets and his childhood had aged him however, and he had a brother who had become blindsided by his own bias. He didn’t want that to happen to her. Eudora was too good for that.

(and maybe she was right, maybe he didn't want his father's abuse to be for nothing.

 ~~_Dad, I cannot_ **_see_ ** _!_~~ )

Diego left the police station slowly enough to not be interpreted as running away.

Naturally he found Luther rummaging his stuff, (in his refuge, in the only place he could unwind), the big buffon just couldn’t help himself. Anger, the cold kind the vigilante had felt on too many occasions to be healthy, and bitterness consumed his nerves and blood. He was so angry yet detached from it all, he just couldn’t bring himself to fight Luther more than just a cut on his ear.

Drained, he numbly exchanged conversation with his brother as he changed. Then the gorilla of a man had to be an idiot and throw accusations everywhere, and oh _look_ , Diego had a fucking _alibi_. To hell with their conflic and problems, someone just had to be decent enough to murder the biggest bastard of the century!

(and it ached, the suspicion and lack of trust, no matter how expected it was)

His mouth tasted sour. “Well, I shouldn’t have to prove my innocence to you, or anyone else in this family” 

(dad had really ruined them, hadn’t he? not a single one of his siblings had escaped from his clutches.

even Vanya's weak and sweet heart had become greedy, and selfish, and horrible.

~~you were lucky to be normal~~

he was the biggest hypocrite)

Luther closed his mouth, likely preparing to say something foolish. “It has to be someone close, Diego, I know it. For instance, Klaus has always been unhinged, perhaps he—”

Diego saw red.

He threw one knife after another until he had Luther pinned against the wall. He walked up to him and took a firm grasp of his clothes. “Don’t you **_dare_ ** accuse Klaus of killing someone” He growled, and released his grip.

Diego knew how much Klaus hated the ghosts, and would never dream of taking a life in his vicinity.

(they were children, and they were terrified, and he was terrified, and—

 ~~_Dad, I cannot_ **_see_ ** _!_~~ )

“Now. **_Go_** ”

Luther stumbled away.

Once the door shut Diego screamed to the heavens, and threw knives for hours afterwards. Realising it wasn’t going to solve shit, he went to the gymnasion and punched away his frustrations until his knuckles bled and he felt the numbness, the alienation, wash the anger away.

( ~~_Dad, I cannot_ **_see_ ** _!_~~ )

A police radio reported a shooting in a department store. A little voice on his mind told him not to go, to find help, that it was grown up time. He ignored it.

(...

he was numb)

Diego, Number Two, Hargreeves wasn’t angry nor bitter anymore.

Instead, he was detached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for your comments! I’m really happy you guys have liked the fic so far.  
> As you saw, the Hargreeves’ trauma runs deeper this time, and it has changed some things.  
> Diego is like the second closest brother to Klaus and the third one who understands him best (;v), this may or may not be an important detail later on. Also, here is where we begin to deviate from canon.  
> Each chapter has something that connects the character with the number four. In the last one, for example, it's about good and evil from an universality viewpoint. According to my philosophy book for dumbasses and kinda confirmed by our revered Wikipedia, there are four ways to see evil that are at each other's throats. It is not exactly my field of study so you can correct me if I'm wrong.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aCCsRCw78g These videos helped me pass finals like three years ago, but you only need to see this one to not get too lost, it is not necessary to get the meaning behind what is happening tho. I mean, only Reginald would make his children experiment with things neurosurgeons would, and should, hesitate about. Like, depressing the respiratory center is more on the anesthesiologists’ book, and they aren't all about it because, well, people need to breathe or they die.  
> I will let you readers answer the question whether Reginald knew about the skin breathing skills before he obliged his kid to fuck around with his brain.  
> Fuck this note is long, and I’m making it longer talking about how long it is. I will just shut up.


	4. Three - Square of Opposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -A lesson on Truth and Lies

Allison “Number Three” Hargreeves didn’t remember a day in which she hasn’t lied. Her career was no different. No matter how good and charming she was, she conducted her life between falsehoods and truths. As she would. As was expected.

It was one of the constants in her life.

_Allison was truth, Number Three was lies._

She had taken to her career with aplomb since it was no different from her rumors, her deceits. Allison facked her emotions and personhood and drive, Number Three made sure they were believable. She was made for this.

Allison builded her life on false fundations, and Number Three made sure they were firm and stable.

Allison should have known it wasn’t going to last. She had not rumored it so.

(Klaus had laughed, free and wild and _raw_ , running behind Ben and a reluctant Diego. he had seen her on his way, and _shifted_.

Five immediately went to teleport their brothers, gave her a pitying look and mouthed, “I will get dad,” before they were enveloped in blue.

Number Four paused, still and calm, and said, “Ich kann deine Lügen sehen”

it was a rough language she had heard him speak before, in the quiet of the night when the screams stopped. it brought both comfort and a warm feeling of longing, like a mother’s embrace.

she had laughed nervously. “what does that mean, silly?”

his eyes were very green, lovely emeralds one second, deadly poison the next. and they were grim and _merciless_.

“ _I can see your lies_ ”

Allison didn’t know if that memory had been real, but Number Three had woken up that night _screaming_ )

Vanya’s book was a nasty surprise and not unlike a bad omen, it’s timing too specific to be a coincidence. Allison had read it while the make-up artists finished their last touches, her face a mask of indifference.

Allison didn’t, and couldn't, understand her plight and weak heart, like how she didn't understand the different effects Reginald's abuse had had on her siblings, but could relate with the contempt and the pain and the _why did father do this to me?_ It was the Hargreeves' harsh reality, one they had to cope with.

She loved her siblings and she wished their father had treated them more gently, and fairly. Or at least to have acted like he cared about them, and their trauma and achievements, to be there in his deception instead of his horrible authenticity. Children shouldn’t need to grow up in toxic competitiveness, for just a bit of love and attention from a selfish adult who didn’t fathom the idea of caring for another, less of all his own kids.

She resented him just like her siblings. Her venom was a little more hidden, and a little less potent. She had made it so, afraid of the bitterness and agony her siblings were subjected to. And considering lies were her foundation, her empty glass, her _shelter_ —

Allison had never rumored her father to go easy on her, Number Three had.

(Patrick had smiled brightly at his wife, a skip to his gait. “a house without a tub is such a weird quirk to have, Sugar”

she lowered her head and put her hands on her round belly, “it’s for our daughter, dear”

he had faulted on his step and stared at her in horror. Allison couldn’t lift her head from the ground, hugging her belly protectively. they never addressed the subject again.

last time she had checked how long it took for her lungs to _burn_ , she was up to six minutes)

Four years after Vanya’s book, her life began to fall apart. All it had taken was a badly placed rumor, and a lifetime of carefully placed falsehoods began to crumble beneath her feet. Allison had fallen into temptation and lost her baby for an idiotic mistake.

Patrick had won custody. Allison wasn’t surprised.

(her powers were not explicitly powerful, they were not flashy, they were not exactly useless either.

they were still a curse anyways)

Her lack of surprise didn’t stop her from crying. Allison had reached for her baby, and took down three police officers in her despair.

Her ex-husband had glanced at her with something like pity in his eyes, as he took Claire away.

(“you should go to therapy, Honey” Patrick said firmly, worry layering each word, “it’s the best for both you and the baby”

Allison shook her head, Number Three had laughed.

~~_had she turned into her father and abused her baby?_ ~~

she had, hadn’t she?)

A year later, her walls took another hit with Father’s death.

This one had not affected her that much, but the cracks were growing little by little. Her armor was rusting, her empty glass had spiderweed-like fractures, all was breaking and decaying like Be—

( _“Curiosities of this world and all such things_ by Reginald Hargreeves” read Ben, his siblings surrounding him, arms wrapped around each other. Father wasn’t home, they could be happy. “ _chapter one: Similarities. the Liar paradox is a musing I have found among the common people…_ ”

Five sighed. “of all the paradoxes, dad had to choose the one that will bore us to death”

“hey, let Ben finish” interrupted Diego.

Five glared. “if a liar admits that they are lying, they are not a total liar in the first place. _it's stupid_ ”

“Dad did say ‘ _the common people_ ’ Five. it practically screams _stupid_ for him” she snapped, exasperated.

Allison did not utter another word for the rest of the evening.

 ~~_Did that mean half of her wasn’t real?_~~ )

Allison’s heart went for Luther regardless of the sheer _relief_ of losing their father’s judgemental shadow. Allison much prefered Klaus for the job, at least he had the observation skills and general insight to back it up, and he was nicer if stranger.

She had made it her job to comfort Luther, no one but her was fond of the big guy. He had, as was custom, made things difficult by getting it on his thick blond head that someone had killed dad. Then he made it even more difficult by suspecting _his own family_ , suspecting _her_. Allison had to do a lot of meditation on that one until she was ready to forgive him for accusing them of murder. Rather accusing them of killing father, they all had blood on their hands. And not only from criminals, even Luther’s denial couldn’t get that far.

(perhaps helping Luther would help Number Three rebuilt what was left of her life)

As the day went on things only got more shittier, like stones hitting a penetrable fortress, with her big argument with both Patrick over the phone, and Vanya. The idea of losing it with her little sister was actually worse. Vanya was the only person who she hasn’t rumored for her own gain, whose relationship with Number Three wasn't based on lies. Barring her fragile little heart, her sister reaching out to Allison without further convincing, on her own free will, was incredible, it was sad her own problems had gotten the best of her.

And now _this_.

Mom, sweet and kind mom. She needed to talk about this with Luther. He was her confidant, the only one who could soothe her broken soul….

(Allison could feel herself _crumbling_ )

Luther wasn’t arriving.

(she felt her lungs _burn_ )

He wasn’t here.

(he had always been there for her)

Choking on her tears, Allison passed on her room for hours on end. Her mind, blank and restless.

She needed an explanation, this couldn't be happening.

(Mom watched over them with a glow the siblings had never seen, her smile wide and hopeful. they were playing, hand in hand and going around in circles, while singing _~the Timer is ticking down~_

they had sounded eerily similar to a death cult when they were younger.

Ben was the center of their circle, crowned the Bearer of Misfortune. darkly funny and fitting since he was the first of them to go. and also very, very sad.

Allison was the first to lose, face red in embarrassment as she broke away from the circle to go and sulk to her mom.

“you sing beautiful, darling,” she had said in dulcet tones, warmth and comforting. then she raised her voice, “children, it’s time for presents!”

her siblings ran towards her, excited, but it soon morphed to confusion when they did not see her carrying anything resembling gifts. instead she carried a small cardboard box and a list on her synthetic hands.

the present they got for their tenth birthday was more of a blessing than a gift, they finally got _names_ , with one exception. but Mom made it up with a vacant Five by giving him a wooden cartridge box filled with ‘ _important things_ ’.

Klaus got the box, a silver bracelet to cover his birthmark.

he put it on with reverence. they ignored the tears on his eyes)

She confronted Grace in the kitchen. The robot was preparing waffles, singing to herself, a weird twitch to her demeanor and movements that put Allison on alert. She interrogated her mother, noticing the incongruences on her expressions, her absentmindedness, how she didn’t even blink when her hand began to burn in the stove.

Yet Allison took the fact her mother didn’t, _couldn’t_ , process the questions like a slap on the face. She didn’t remember, she wasn’t angry with Father.

She was faulty. She was falling apart.

Allison needed to find a solution, to protect her family.

(“i heard a rumor that you gave me sweets for dinner” she watched in fascination and glee as Mom gave her a jar of gummies)

Her face was wet during and after she did what she needed to do.

She was numb when she put on her sleepwear and layed down on her childhood bed, her breathing even, her lungs didn’t burn, and she thought she could hear her siblings singing in a circle, hand in hand. Allison fell into a restless sleep, her body shivering and weak.

Number Three was a _wicked_ one for sure, slow as poison.

She woke up to the sound of footsteps, early in the morning, the sun still hiding. Her body tense, she took the closest weapon— a yellow umbrella— and slowly walked towards the quiet cursing and grunts. Her body relaxed when she saw it was only her brothers.

It was strange to see Luther dragging Klaus by his arm like when they were kids and their brother tried to get into dad’s wine collection. She felt a relief so immense it was close to a religious experience, her confidant was here, he would know what to do.

Allison tried to talk to him, it was useless.

“Whatever it is, it’s not important now Allison” He said roughly yet not unkindly. “I need to interrogate Klaus”

Her smaller brother was struggling in Luther’s hold. “You need a freaking chill pill, Luther. Oh, _auch!_ Lemme go, you big jerk! I don’t know what Pogo told you but I didn’t do shit!” Klaus shouted, still trying to wrestle his arm free. “It’s just I-I needed to get high, Lu. _Sooo_ high ‘cause they were being _sooo_ loud, you get that? You are just a big old meanie and bullying me. Like, I tried to get dad’s stuff outta the trash, but it all had gone _woosh!_ ” He moved his other limb as if he was waving a magic wand and the distinctive smell of burnt filled the room.

“Where were you last night?” He whispered in his ear, Klaus recoiled. “Dad died almost two days ago, Klaus. Can’t you see the situation? How it makes you look like?” Luther asked with all the delicacy of a train wreck.

“Wait, is this some kind of joke, or life lesson, or something? Did Pogo ask you to do this? Last night-last night I was searching…” Klaus laughed, it was the kind of laugh he gave when he was going to cry, and shrugged. “I told you. Last night, my cute ass was dragging itself all over the city, dumpster diving to please dear old Pogo’s boner for daddy’s things”

Allison shuddered. “Ugh, Klaus, gross”

Luther was not assuaged. “And what about the burnt smell?”

“What burnt smell? Oh, moi?” Klaus pouted. “Ever heard of phantosmia? You guys should get checked” He made as if he was searching something in his pocket, and a roll conveniently fell out. The junkie catched it in the air in a rare show of dexterity, shook it to get rid of the grime, and lighted it before putting it in his mouth.

“Of course it was cannabis” Whispered Luther to himself. Klaus smiled at him.

Allison frowned, feeling her body tense like it did when she looked at the footage last night.

Number three had more difficulty than her siblings at deciphering the Scripture, but Allison could understand lies.

Luther will forever be a bit too oblivious.

Klaus, now pleasantly high, began to rant about a skinny lady who offered him donuts, and how happy he was about it because Diego had broken his promise and did not take him to eat breakfast, the traitor. He made grant gestures and twirled from side to side, a long suffering Luther tried in vain to grab the roll. The smaller brother danced around him with the ease of experience, never stopping his verbiage.

(“learning the logistics behind syllogism and other types of deductive reasoning can help solve crimes and provide better interrogation tools, furthermore it conferes you with knowledge on how to formulate more complex fallacies. a power based on falsehood is treacherous as is powerful, Miss Allison. and a good lie requires solid foundations closer to the truth to be believable. now, I need you to make the square of opposition and explain it to me” said Pogo, giving her a chalk to write on the blackboard.

first she wrote the four clauses: “universalis affirmativa” _all her siblings told the truth_ , “universalis negativa” _all her siblings didn’t tell the truth_ , “particularis affirmativa” _some of her siblings told the truth_ , “particularis negativa” _some of her siblings told lies_. Allison gulped down her sickness as she began to draw a square, Number Three kept her hand steady.

the chalk broke between her fingers, her mind far away as she felt the empty glass spill over. her lungs _burned_.

between Luther’s morality, Diego’s numb rage, her lies, Klaus’ fear, Five’s equations, Ben’s death, and Vanya’s unnoticeable presence. she couldn’t distinguish lies from truths.

Allison, Number Three, had broken down crying.

 _I can see your lies_ )

Allison personally preferred the modern proposal by Boole. Lies made up her life, her very existence depended on them.

She didn’t want to exist as an inbetween.

“And food, you guys cannot imagine how hard it is to get. I had to stay with this idiot for the night and it was the worst make-out session in the history of _ever_. It was nasty, and gross. Not that I mind much, he was just on a whole new level of never washing his mouth” Klaus made a gesture of disgust, Luther still couldn’t get a word in. “The only thing rehabilitation centers got right was the food, I totally would be sold for three meals a day if they didn’t have this holier than thou attitude towards us recreational drug users”

Luther decided to just cover their brother’s mouth. “How long ago were you in the center?”

He sighed before releasing his hold. Klaus massaged his jaw.

“Mm, like, two weeks ago, I think? It was sooo hard staying sober. I could sneak in some brownies but that was it”

“You have an alibi, can you prove it?”

“I can,” She interjected, remembering the electronic bills on her mail, “It was my turn to pay the center. You can just go ahead and call them, Luther”

He did just that and returned five minutes later, he confirmed that the center had Klaus at the moment of their father’s death. She was kind of pissed off at him for all the drama, and it was pure luck Allison remembered to show them the tapes.

“We need to call the others,” Sighed Luther, rubbing his eyes. Klaus swallowed thickly and made eye contact with her, expression hurt, “And come to a decision”

‘ _Too little too late_ ’ Allison mused sadly.

There was no other option.

( _I can see your lies_ )

They agreed to gather their siblings the next day to discuss this new development. Allison chose to go to Vanya’s apartment, and didn’t mind taking the scenic route. On her way she saw a street tea vendor, the lady was pushing a cart with a cute beach umbrella over the top. She was beautiful, a lot like Mom with her blond hair and dress, and smiled in her direction, beckoning her closer.

"Would you like to know your fortune, dear?"

Allison raised an eyebrow in scepticism. “Pardon?”

She laughed prettily, a hand on her mouth. “It’s just a quirk of mine, little one. Tea is my passion and love, I have learnt a great many things from it and its different arts”

“Just one cup”

The lady nodded and proceeded to boil the water and prepare the leaves, from inside her cart she pulled out an exquisitely ornate teapot and a cup with its plate. She poured the water and leaves in the teapot and let it steep, carefully counting the minutes on her watch.

Allison was impressed at her dedication, and wondered why she didn’t get more customers. “You make tea very, ah, traditionally”

She giggled as she served Allison her tea, and Allison hummed in appreciation at the first sip. It was flavory and sweet without being too rich or harsh on her unaccustomed tongue, and it was warm. She was surprised to find she had already finished it without noticing.

The vendor extended her carefully manicured hand, took her practically empty cup, and shook it gently until the leaves formed a figure.

The lady’s pleasant features soured into something like arrogance.

“Is an hourglass” Allison said warily, the atmosphere had suddenly _changed_.

The vendor shook her head, something ugly and revolting and _gleeful_ on her face “It is a warning, however you seem like the kind of person who practices prudence, so I wouldn’t be too worried”

She glanced up at Allison.

Whatever the lady found on her face must have been worrying. “Sorry for the unpleasant turn this has taken,” She took a candy out of her pocket. “Take this, their flavor is not of this era,” She laughed.

After saying their goodbyes, she resumed her walk but remembered she still had the lady’s cup. She halted her step, and turned around, ready to apologize for her carelessness.

The lady was nowhere to be found.

Ignoring the pit on her stomach, she hastened her step— Vanya’s apartment wasn’t so far and the faster the better. She encountered her sister in the middle of the street and she all but ran to greet her and her companion, panting and with her hands on her knees.

_In another universe Allison would have never encountered the blond lady, would have never ran into her sister with paranoia consuming her body and mind. Little events and actions can alter the course of a person’s story._

_For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost._

So this time, Allison _saw_ the man next to Vanya and didn’t like what she found. He was the sleazy type, the kind she could spot kilometers away, making comments to make Vanya feel better but each word was underlined with contempt and manipulation, each sentence deliberately arranged to create a bridge between Vanya and her siblings. And her poor sister, with her gentle and weak heart, fell for it. Her response was proof enough for both herself and the guy too, unless he was Luther’s level of oblivious.

However, no matter how good the guy, Number Three was _better_. “It’s about Mom”

Once Allison made sure the man was far away from Vanya, she tried to get all the information she could for the security of her sister. She got the name Leonard Peabody, that he was one of her violin students, that he was kind with her, that he made a wooden figure of her. Things without importance to the unkeen eye and those not trained in manipulation, the barely hidden obsession raised alarms on her head.

Allison took on the role of overprotective sister like she was made for it, and she _was_. Number Three’s actions were drastic and efficient, made to protect her family from all types of harm— she would do the unspeakable for them. She told Vanya she was happy for her, just be careful and to be in constant communication in the case that something happened. Vanya laughed, the desired reaction, and gave her a considerate look as she handed her a piece of paper with her phone number. Allison put it in her right pocket.

She was not sure if it was Allison or Number Three who told Vanya she wasn’t good at being a sister, but it was Allison in the end who offered the apology.

Vanya deserved it, theirs was one of the only relationships that had more foundations on truth than constructed fantasy. And she craved unconditional love, regardless of its source.

("i heard a rumor that you love me")

Perhaps Vanya...

( _I can see your lies_ )

Allison turned around and went back to the Academy. Vanya tried to talk to her on the way back, she couldn’t respond.

Number Three didn’t want to ruin it.

Their family gathered in the living room, a gloom on Luther, Klaus and herself. Allison and Luther were the ones who explained the situation, Klaus too overwhelmed from the crash and emotional turmoil to speak. His complexion was pale, face downcast as he faced for the first time a death he had no power over.

Diego and Vanya took the news relatively well since they didn’t try to rip their throats out or pout them into submission. The following discussion of the possibility of disconnecting Mom didn’t go quite as well, with Luther and Diego coming to blows, Vanya’s silent distress, and Klaus glaring holes into her for some bizarre reason. Luther trapped Diego, who she now noticed had pretty nasty injuries, into a chokehold and yelled at them to stand at attention, Father’s training making them do so. He called for democracy to determine Mom’s fate, and released Diego so they could all take a seat to meditate on their decision. They were about to make their votes when…

Grace walked into the room, her heels click-clicking, a swan in elegance and a rose in beauty, all of her made in perfection. The chime of her humming, bell-like, brought the siblings peace, and a wash of shame for their lack of manners and childishness. Her smile, a sun in cheer radiance, her presence warm and loving, a flourish in the way she placed the plates on the mini-table. She flattened her skirt and gave a delicate bow to the siblings, a hand placed to her bosom in a playful manner, like she used to do in their ballroom lessons.

Grace paraded out of the room, her heels click-clicking, her steps a mockery of humanity, her smile frozen in place, a machine-like stillness permeating each click-click-click. Grace walked out of the room, an automaton in mannerism and a masterpiece in sophistication, all of her made in artificiality. The click- ** _crack_** -clicking of her heels and broken orbital cavity saturated the room with the smell of oil and tears, a knife dripping black and clasped in her brittle hand. Her hold tightened on the sharp object and her skin went rip and rip and **_rip_** , and her children _screamed._

And screamed.

(what have I done?)

And **_screamed_**.

(i was trying to protect my family)

Grace hit the wall, a twitch in her carcass, a delight in her ruin. Her saphire of an eye soft and ecstatic, her love for them unmistakable, as she raised her weapon and used it in her own synthetic flesh. She repeated the action tirelessly, the sharp object kissing deep into her sinews and gears and bones, and then the knife met her head with a crack, _crack_ , **_crack_ ** as it broke through her mechanisms and circuits like a cloth tearing and tearing and _tearing_. She placed a hand over where a human heart should be— her dress in disarray and skin full of uneven cuts and lacerations, the knife impaled in the eyeless orbit— and hummed, her lovely voice alluring and sweet.

(Mom?)

Grace raised a hand in their direction.

(...Allison...)

Grace smiled at them, a goodbye on her visage. Her eyes closed in peace and acceptance.

(“you sing beautiful, darling”

 _~is ticking down, ticking down~_ )

Grace was no more.

Her body fell ungracefully to the ground in front of the horrified, and unmoving, audience.

Diego was the first to snap out of it, and ran in the direction of their mother’s body.

“No, no, no, no. M-m-m-mom, _ple-pl-please_. **_Mom!_** ”

Klaus got up from his seat and ran away from the room, the sounds of retching came from the bathroom shortly afterwards. Luther went after him in a rush, surely worried this would be the final straw and their brother would overdose - she was concerned about that too but trusted Luther to help him somehow. Allison put her hand on Vanya’s shoulder as tears began to fall from their faces, they moved to Diego’s crumbled and shaking form and hugged him. His shaking eased a little before he broke down in miserable sobs.

It took hours for them to move from their positions, and the moon was up by the time they separated and reverently covered the body with a white sheet.

Klaus returned with Luther in tow, a lost look on his face that either indicated he was seeing _things_ or that he was still in shock, his demeanor had not exactly _shifted_ so it was probably the latter. Diego, ever a little bit too gentle with Klaus, told him it would be nice of him to bathe, and to doll up, while patting his curls. Allison recalled that Grace used to absolutely _love_ putting a shy Klaus in pretty dresses when dad was gone, back when he still had dreams of becoming a fashion designer. The vigilante guided the junkie upstairs to get some clothes, Klaus letting himself be guided by his right hand, clutching Mom’s bracelet with the other.

The rest of the siblings dispersed. Vanya went to the kitchen for a glass of water, quietly crying to herself, Luther looked torn between comforting her or their little sister, and Allison, heart heavy and in her throat, sighed and patted his big shoulder, telling him to go after the violinist. Allison went up the stairs to her room, her mind fuzzy and weirdly absent of everything, arms wrapped around herself. Diego stumbled down, breath heavy, a butterfly knife clutched in his fist. He made eye contact and looked up in the bathroom's direction, where a dense aura was originating from.

There was Klaus, a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, Mom’s black stilettos and one of Allison’s satin blouses in his arms, a pair of headphones in his ears.

He was humming their childhood song.

Allison shivered violently when he abruptly paused and gave her a _look_ , full of forbidden knowledge. She urged Diego down the stairs and away from their quietly _furious_ brother, the furniture trembling and lifting in his path. The vigilante told her to be cautious and ran the rest of the way, likely to inform their siblings of the incident.

Number Three’s rumors were their only salvation.

His eyes, green as poison, were _merciless_. “You poisoned her”

“I did not,” She gulped, it was obvious Klaus somehow _knew_ , “And even if I did, where is the evidence?”

Klaus couldn’t prove anything. Mom was never a part of the living.

( _I can see your lies_ )

He laughed bitterly as he entered the bathroom, music loud in his ears. Number Four eyed her from the corner of his glowing eyes, smile wide and corpse-like, stretched wider than humanly possible.

Allison swallowed thickly, and passed out.

When she came to, it was still nighttime. She sluggishly thanked her lucky stars she had not managed to break her neck, and rubbed her eyes.

There was a _crash_ in the living room, and she jumped to alertness, the distinct sound of gunshots shattering the tranquil atmosphere. Her training made her run towards the sounds of fighting. She had to dodge as she quickly came down the stairs, a bullet barely missed her shoulder by mere inches. Her ears were ringing as she assessed the situation, two intruders with heavy ammo, a woman and a man with childish masks that seemed to be bulletproof, a material she had never seen before. Luther was fighting the man who was handling his punches damn well, Diego was fighting the lady and she was matching his hand to hand with her flexibility and precise hits. Her brothers, nevertheless, had something in them the other two lacked and it was the _viciousness_ and _rage_ that fuelled their adrenaline, that made each strike be returned with double the force. Allison signalled Diego to switch because Luther was in dire need of the help, and the vigilante's previous injuries were no laughing matter.

As she fought the woman, and dodged bullets left and right, her mind tried to focus on her objective and forget about her guilt and Klaus’ accusing gaze. Number Three was the vicious one in this scuffle, Allison too far gone in her drowning and regret, to be precise instead of sloppy. She shook her head to clear it, accepting a punch to her solar plexus with _grace_ , and she returned the favor with a kick of her own, using the tip of her heel to increase the damage. Her opponent grunted and put a hand on her side to apply pressure to the bleeding wound. Allison let herself relax as the intruder collapsed to the ground, panting.

Her brain decided to betray her at that moment, memories of Mom flashing and suffocating her in _guilt_. Her lungs were _burning_.

Allison, Number Three, didn’t notice she was _frozen_.

(she had done this for her family.

 _I can see your lies_ )

For some unfathomable reason, her chest suddenly hurt. **_A lot_**.

The air was forced out of her burning lungs, and she slowly fell to the ground. ‘ _It was probably a well placed punch_ ’ She deliriously mused.

Then she felt a pressure on her chest, not unlike a pellet, and her hands were covered in red. Her ears were ringing, there were black dots on her vision. She _choked_.

Again, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak, she wasn’t _real_.

(Father, her curse, was back)

Allison ~~Number Three: The Rumor~~ Hargreeves was her name. She needed her dichotomy.

(it was now her turn to stand in the middle of the circle.

 _~the Timer is ticking down, is ticking down, ticking down~_ )

_Allison was truth, Number Three was lies._

(“Allison, _Allison_ , stay with me. _please_ ,” begged Luther, his body bigger and hairier than she remembered. Vanya was crying in Diego’s trembling chest.

her poor Vanya looked like she had gotten hurt in the fight.

 _huh? where was all this blood coming from?_ )

And thus, the person becomes the falsehood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when they sang around Ben?
> 
> Okay, weird commentary and research for this chap:
> 
> -Ticking Down has the same rhythm as London Bridge is Falling Down.
> 
> -Allison is Brit, from England to be exact. And I may have gone a bit overboard with one stereotype in particular (all of them inherently like tea, right?)
> 
> -I will not put the Major Character Death tag until said character's death is confirmed by the other characters.
> 
> -Fight scenes are a writer’s doom, as is seriousness.
> 
> -Luther’s and Allison’s endings are similar because of symbolism and whatnot. My parents think I’m clever.
> 
> -I asked myself what random detail may be an important education related thingy while still having a relationship with both the character and the number four. The answer, surprisingly, was a blurry memory of a math book from 10th grade I suppose? So the math book had calculations and theory and stuff, and it had an explanation on the history of Venn Diagrams (even though I saw them in our class about fallacies? maybe it never was a math book? Tricky memory business amirite) and there stood my pal Aristotle. A thorough Wikipedia search later confirmed my suspicions and, cool detail here, if you search "number four" in Wikipedia all the random stuff I've been searching was there. Pity that it took me this long to go the easiest route and just put ‘number four’ on the search bar (facepalms). They are only chapter titles, why complicate things?
> 
> -In this fic, the children got names before Five time travelled, not after.
> 
> -During Grace's death, I used her name seven times.
> 
> -All translations were made with Google. The language Klaus talked in was, no surprise, German.
> 
> Your comments always brighten my day!


	5. Four - Tetraphobia (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A lesson on Fear

> _02:10 11:00 - 11:30 00:10 10:30 - 11:00 02:10 03:10 01:10 ._
> 
> _11:00 02:00 01:10 - 01:20 02:10 10:20 10:30 11:00 , 00:10 03:20 01:00 - 11:00 02:00 01:10 - 03:00 00:10 10:30 11:00 ._
> 
> _00:10 - 00:20 01:10 01:30 02:10 03:20 03:20 02:10 03:20 01:30 , 00:10 03:20 01:00 - 01:10 03:20 01:00 ._
> 
> _00:10 10:30 - 00:10 03:00 03:00 - 11:00 02:00 02:10 03:20 01:30 10:30 - 10:30 02:00 03:30 11:10 03:00 01:00 - 00:20 01:10 ._
> 
> _11:00 02:00 01:10 12:10 - 11:30 01:10 10:20 01:10 - 00:20 03:30 10:20 03:20 - 11:00 03:30 - 01:10 10:20 00:10 10:30 01:10 - 02:10 11:00 - 00:10 03:00 03:00 ._

It was _time_.

They were so tired of waiting.

The War entertained them, it was awful and wrong, a slow corruption of the anima. It’s hunger, insatiable. As the bombs dropped, their nature told them that it was not enough destruction.

They were still left satisfied.

Era tiempo.

Estaba tan cansado de esperar.

Los cielos, oscuros cuál carbón, despedían un olor acre y fosfórico, hirsuto y cruento. Fragancias propias de aquellos moribundos valles y ríos, ya nunca jamás verdes y floridos sino muertos como la Parca misma. Mares oscuros, en donde el amargo lamento de Pachamama y el petróleo conjugaron en impía complacencia, lo arrullaron junto al crujir de dientes, los gritos ahogados de víctimas y culpables y el llanto de un ilusorio porvenir. Su satisfacción era inconmensurable.

Es war an der Zeit.

Sie war es leid zu warten.

So, Klaus Hargreeves was born under the shadow of a cathedral, in bones and flesh alike, human to the very core, yet not. Free of inconsequential responsibilities, he feeded from his young mother. Eyes a lovely green — like the nature a strange land had once cherished and ruined, their monstrous greed ravenous and relentless — stared at sights never seen by humans and kindred mortal creatures, from this dimension and outside of it.

The caretaker had taken some of his presence for herself and, in between oneiric peregrinations and forbidden illustration, had slowly transformed into a mother of the many, the lost ones, and of him.

She was perfect, and like the rest of humanity, was on the List. Her name glowing prettily in Scribe. He didn’t want to let her go.

Destiny wasn’t merciful.

He felt her passing, the alien sensation on her forehead, the fire and despair, and felt himself forget, un-shift. Mind blanking but full of knowledge, trauma grilling into his young neurons and taking residence. He cried, grieved and promised suffering to the man who had made it so. Who had injected a weird substance in his veins, and forced an amnesia so profound he was left purposeless and confused by his own innate wisdom, like the child he was. Reginald Hargreeves was unaware of what he had done.

His humanity was swallowing him.

Still, much to his new guardian’s bafflement at discovering the bizarre birthmark and his own forgetfulness, the Timer ticked on. He could translate the Scribe to mortality, and understand some of its implications. Still could _shift_ from time to time, and gain some of what he had lost.

Germany was not home, he knew he didn’t belong anywhere. He knew many things, curious and horrible and splendorous and forbidden. He didn’t know why he knew those things.

The List was in Scribe and the Timer was ticking down.

The first five years under Father’s care were lived in confusion and fear so deep it was overwhelming. The dead talked to him, showed him things he already knew somehow, and some he didn’t. They wanted him to guide them, to help them, to commiserate them.

To be cautious on his mercy, and just in his manner. But not warm, never warm nor welcoming. Whatever that meant.

Klaus liked gardening, and it kept the ghosts away, as afraid of him as he was of them. He was blessed with a bit of a green thumb and hyacinths, chrysanthemums, and lilies flourished under his diligent care. Klaus happily shared the greenhouse with Mom, it was one of their secrets, like the fashion sprees.

Not all the ghosts were so bad. There was a gorgeous lady — lithe and kind and oh so loving, she reminded him of Mom — who followed him and rambled in both english and another language that gave him headaches similar to the Scribe, it’s roughness familiar and melancholic. A large number of her words were unintelligible, she had told him his hearing was dampened by the veil of mortality on his ears.

(she was no longer on the List, it kind of made sense)

Klaus gave his best effort to learn her language, and he accidentally scared Allison. Five called Dad, now accustomed to the odd metamorphosis in his mysterious project, and he felt the sweet relief inside his heart and blood vessels.

There also was a blond and alive lady that liked to visit him, she was pretty like Mom too, but had none of her warmth.

Klaus had been taught politeness, he ignored those lessons. “You are not from here, you are not from many places”

They were in the greenhouse, its earthly scent calming and freeing.

She had giggled, a hand on her face in mock finesse. “What a curious little one” She inclined her head to the side and dropped slowly to her knees. She extended a well manicured hand, nails red as blood. “My name is the Handler, may I be blessed by the name of such a cute gentleman?”

He hummed, straightening his purple skirt. “Not gentleman, just Number Four” He met her keen gaze with bored green eyes and asked, “What do you handle?”

The lady barely contained her satisfied sneer. “More things than that little head of yours can understand”

Klaus was pretty unimpressed, even if he had not cheated by glancing at her briefly on the List.

“You came here for Five” He stated, aware of his brother’s rather homicidal tendencies. Which were mean, people liked their lives.

Oh, maybe he should try to comfort her. “Are you afraid of death? Don’t worry, many are too and had tried to chicken out from it”

Number Four was impressed by how well she could hide her fear.

He _shifted_ , his eyes glowing and poisoned, smile dead still on his face. The hundred voices were mocking and ominous. “You can't escape either”

She never returned to the greenhouse.

(weird lady kept on visiting his siblings though)

Included among his many likes, moon gazing with his family was a favorite. Luther would get lost in the immense black of the sky, and the twinkling of the stars, dreaming of trips to faraway planets and adventure. Diego and Allison cuddled them, their softness and need to keep them safe reassuring, as were their jokes and mirth. Five and Vanya would huddle close in quiet contemplation, Five taking the time to explain to them his excitement over some science thing or another, happy to be listened to without Father’s expectectation holding him down. Vanya related to them — awkward and bashful, her weak heart hopeful — her love for music, compases, and string instruments, for some day playing Phantom of the Opera in a big concert, the graceful dance of a ballerina accompanying her success. Ben would smile, unafraid of the monster inside himself, and would read a book to them.

(they would not be so afraid of Klaus in those instances too)

> _¬ 02:30 ° ¬ 00:10 03:10 ° 03:00 ¬ ° 03:10 11:10 03:20_

That was some weird crap alright.

“Stay away from the space stuff Seven” He said, because the List decided to be ominous as shnell.

 _What the heckie did ‘_ go to the moon _’ even_ meant _?_

Five was perceptive like always. “The List?”

He nodded. “It’s dangerous”

“Oh, it’s good I like the violin then” She whispered, hugging Allison to herself. His powers had always scared her the most.

“Just be careful, we don’t want to lose you”

And that was it, she was warned. In her passiveness and will to life, perhaps the List would take pity on her.

(the Scribe fluctuated, each movement, each choice compelled change. not fragile like a butterfly’s wings, it didn’t stand the wind like an oak or incline to its whims like bamboo either, it scrutinized, assimilated, and reshaped to satisfaction. the mechanisms, the hows, of the circumstances which enforced such measures were as dynamic as time itself.

the List gave clues, thankfully, and Klaus had learned that being a cheater was better than ignorance)

Vanya had possibilities, she only had to unearth the messages of the occult, those that hid within her self-made limitations. She may be an ordinary human but wasn’t exactly _powerless_.

They returned to bonding and singing in circles, Ben at the center because he was unlucky and it was imperative to scare the bad luck away. Songs were calming and the Horror hated disturbances, too unaccustomed to strong emotions to even try to deal with them.

(the List and Timer were him as he was them, his brain and heart were him as he was them.

people often made music to the rhythm of their own bodies and the poetry of their souls)

By his seventh birthday, the visits to the mausoleum were constant enough to make eating and performing difficult. Mom gave herself to her children, in desperation and fear for providing an ounce of happiness to the vastness of their trauma. They let the robot pamper them, too numb from fear and sadness to stop the anguished attempts at affection. She had even, in a last ditch effort, begged her creator to _please stop sir, they are_ **_children_**.

Reginald Hargreeves was unrelenting.

(the only way to intimidate Father into not making him go was to use the thousand voices that always followed, patient and somber.

he called them voices, because the alternative was to accept they were _his_ )

They were eight when Diego found the book in dad’s library, it was worn and aged, pages a pale yellow. Its cover was thick, brown and had eccentric symbols etched on the superior corner, small and scarcely visible, visages of times past. When opened, the book had a dedication that professed ‘ _To those of fortuitous curiosity, may the damned never rise again. Insanity shall never prevail_ ’ in letters which glowed every color of the spectrum, ready to trap the weak minded.

They read the book on the fireplace, Ben had the privilege to read the first chapter.

It was interesting and entertaining, the book spoke of fantastical places and daring adventures in an alien world, it was the closest thing to a fairytale they had ever had. Klaus secretly burned it once they got to the fourth chapter.

Some things were not meant to be known.

He was not hasty enough and it had affected one of his siblings. Creatures had decided to follow Ben around, since he was a Connector and the first to read its message, their long and pointed fingers scratched the wooden floors, spinal cords twisted and bent back like a question mark, one narrow leg longer than the other, and too long arms. They were dark, an immense darkness that consumed light and emotions alike, and possessed a tremendous presence of pain and death and indescribable things never mentioned nor whispered, for fear they would haunt the poor tattletale too. They were, thankfully, harmless and very annoying.

And they also were quite afraid of the Horror. It was funny to see them scurrying about.

At least they were not the worst thing that could have come out of the book but, well, there were not many beings, no matter the dimension, who could face Klaus.

The creatures were very chatty, their language similar to scratching blackboards, dying screams and broken glass, and told him to visit their world sometime. It was gloomy and bleak and homey, a perfect vacation spot according to them. To each their own, Klaus supposed.

What had the german lady told him? To never fret for those who thrive in the dark, they had a story to tell?

All in all, he liked them more than the ghosts.

(sometimes they muttered.

> _°~C°~U°~R°~I°~O°~U°~S°~° °~E°~A°~R°~T°~H°~° °~C°~H°~I°~L°~D°~°_

the creatures had their weird moments. rather, their incongruences clashed with his humanity.

> **_°~D|°~A|°~N|°~G|°~E|°~R|°~°_ **

more like, they were funky as heckie.

> _11:30 01:10 - 00:10 10:20 01:10 - 02:00 01:10 03:00 10:00 01:10 10:20 10:30 - 03:30 01:20 - 11:10 02:00 01:10 - **01:10** 10:20 00:10 10:30 01:10 10:20 - 00:10 03:20 01:00 - 11:30 01:10 - 10:30 02:00 00:10 03:00 03:00 - 03:30 01:20 01:20 01:10 10:20 - 03:30 11:10 10:20 - 10:30 01:10 10:20 12:10 02:10 00:30 01:10 10:30 , 03:30 02:00 - **01:30** 10:20 01:10 00:10 11:00 - **03:30** 03:20 01:10 . _

great, what was it with old creatures and ominousness?

Klaus had not signed up for any of this crap.

 ~~he was secretly a little intimidated by it all~~ )

Five’s constant escapes began at nine years old, and each time it was more challenging to find him. Father had punished his most promising child accordingly, to discourage him for such foolishness. It had never worked, and Five was getting worse and more desperate.

Five had been at his limit for ages, Klaus often feared for his sanity.

Klaus had invited him to his bedroom to scare the nightmares away, sometimes he had to stop Five from scratching his forearms raw and bloody. His brother had once tried to screw metal plaques from wrist to elbow, he had ended up with a large fissure on his left radius and a fractured ulna on his other arm. It was the happiest his sibling has been in many years.

(Klaus should have seen it coming,

he sometimes caught himself looking at Father’s wine bar with longing)

They had taken a liking to secret conversation under the covers, hidden from the cameras.

“How can you take it?”

Klaus made a noise of confusion.

Five took his hands in his own, a bitter grimace on his face. “Dad hurts you like he hurts me and I can’t—”

A horrible shiver engulfed Five’s words, his thorax contracted too slow and then too fast, trying and failing to find a suitable rhythm. Klaus hugged him, not knowing what else to do.

His brother pressed his head to his shoulder, muffling his sadness. “I want to breathe”

''It is not going to kill us, the List never lies” He comforted, sure of that fact.

Five had never been one for false hopes and dreams. He wasn’t one to deny reality like a delusional idiot either. “Have you seen Two and Three? Ghosts can be alive too—”

His sibling faced him, grim and severe, his words harsh in their frankness. Klaus resisted the urge to vomit his dinner, he felt like an insect under those pitying blue eyes.

“—and Father is going to make us choke until we _die_ ” 

(why did Number Four felt like crying?

after all, Klaus felt fine.

~~he needed to be fine.~~

~~who would pay attention to the Timer otherwise?~~ )

Mom blessed them with names at their tenth birthday, an October first a year before the new millenium. The day was foggy, a sliver of sunlight filtered through the mist. There was an electricity on the air, speaking of new beginnings. A special date for a special gift.

He had put on her beautiful bracelet slowly, carefully, with a devotion bordering on religious. It was made of silver, the metal of the resplendent moon, the protector against the malicious and the misfortune, the beacon that uncovered the enigmas concealed in plain sight. It was a cuff bracelet, four inches wide, it had silver vines woven together, with little accents of emeralds, and in the center it possessed a petite keyhole, inside of which you could witness a galaxy, with little stars twinkling and spirals spinning around a concentric blackhole. It was gorgeous, and perfect to cover the Timer.

(it wasn’t the Milky Way,

the stars were wrong, and the blackhole was too wide, and there was something inside that was calling and screaming and _begging_ and—

as was expected, Klaus didn’t know how he knew that)

By the summer of their tenth year alive, Five had disappeared without a trace. A portrait was hung on the wall of the living room, a lesson and a warning.

_“Don’t disobey me, children”_

It was a somber time for the siblings but Klaus had told them that Five was alive. The List had never lied, and never would.

(it was a bit difficult to lie to yourself,

not even Allison could do that,

self-denial was more up Luther’s alley, honestly)

So from eleven to twelve, nothing of relevance happened. Their Father decided it was time to show them to the world like a circus of freaks, and the people laughed and cheered and had a good time at the expense of kids who didn’t know any better. It was their moment to shine and Five wasn’t with them.

Two years later, Ben, too, was no longer with them. It had been a horrible mission, they had killed another innocent man, and he was the most compassionate of the siblings. Ben just couldn’t handle it, and the Horror was insatiable and the emotions were overwhelming to it.

It was horrible and Ben was rotting from the inside and—

(he and Diego did what they had to do,

Ben had forgiven them, had told them so moments before they had to… and later using Klaus as a translator.

the others never found out, and Diego had blocked his brain once more.

Number Four had never killed, never had and never would. the circumstances of Ben’s death were not murder nor suicide, the Creatures had simply _converged_ on him, and then he was no more.

> _**02:30** 03:00 00:10 11:10 10:30 - 02:00 00:10 01:00 - 03:20 01:10 11:20 01:10 10:20 - 10:20 01:10 11:30 10:20 02:10 11:00 11:00 01:10 03:20 - 11:00 02:00 01:10 - **03:00** _ _02:10 10:30 11:00 - 00:20 01:10 01:20 03:30 10:20 01:10 , 02:00 01:10 - 11:30 02:10 10:30 02:00 01:10 01:00 - 11:00 03:30 - 03:20 01:10 11:20 01:10 10:20 - 01:00 03:30 - 02:10 11:00 - 00:10 01:30 00:10 02:10 03:20 ._ )

He gave up to vice and finally drank himself into a coma, much to the german lady’s displeasure, and it was exactly what he had been needing since the beginning, the alcohol and drugs made him partially blind and deaf to the many and the all and the nothing. He was, at last, a _complete human_.

He went from trip to trip, never staying sober for long, and partied in shady bars and knew people twice his age who he knew were dangerous but he craved an escape, because the rasping voices got too loud and the abysm could go and fuck itself considering he had never had the choice to not stare at it. Beings beyong humanity’s understanding and their forbidden knowledge his ass, the assholes were as attention seeking as the fucking ghosts. The Abyss was extremely overrated nonetheless.

Ben decided to keep him accompany, criticizing his life choices any chance he got, and kind of made sure he survived his own idiotness to tell the tale. Between cheap motels, warm and less nasty street alleys, fresh trash can food, and crooked _partners_ , Klaus took to the streetlife with aplomb.

The thing with the streets was that only the dangerous thrived, and Klaus was the most dangerous thing around. Just ask the ones who had _dared_ to push his limits, or made Ben sad.

The ones who weren’t in mental hospitals anyways, babbling like fools. Who knew people were so weak minded?

(there was a time in rehab when one of the nurses—

she was very impolite and upset that poor homeless gay kid, fuck her.

and called him names when he defended the poor baby, bad ones. she then did horrible things to Klaus, he could not speak for weeks afterwards.

it was supposed to be a safe space... 

she had to _go_.

harshness against Number Four was sacrilegious, the Creatures had not liked it.

there were things you should not upset)

Celebrating his twenty five birthday in a rehabilitation center was funny, the druggies sang him praises and words of encouragement, and gave him so much cake it made him sick. It was the best and worst birthday of his life, junkies had given more of a fuck about him than his own _family_. Only Diego had had the presence of mind to call and congratulate him. And maybe Klaus was a tiny bit bitter over that fact.

His weak hearted little Vanya published a book, he had read it to his rehab-mates. It was all fun and games until they got to his chapter:

> _Klaus, or as you know him Number Four, was who scared me the most. You may wonder, how could the weakest and friendliest member of the Umbrella Academy ever be remotely scary? My answer, I’m afraid, cannot encompass the whole horrible truth___. If I was to describe what was wrong with Klaus, it will all begin with his abilities___._
> 
> _His powers are… indescribable, outside of this world ___. The easiest explanation is that he sees and communicates with ghosts___, and that is what we told the media because we yet did not understand their full potential. We still don’t understand it now._
> 
> ____He is… difficult to deal with, the drugs have taken over his life___. ___he has been in many rehabilitation centers and has been to jail once or twice. He has made many bad choices___._
> 
> _Yet we don’t talk to him, try not to contradict him, or stand on his way. We are afraid of him._
> 
> _I am afraid._

He spent years lost in a drugged trance, in and out of rehab, and loved every single second of self-destruction, of carrying on by the skin of his teeth, and brutal violence, it made him feel _alive_. Pills, alcohol, weed, heroin, cocaine, cement, paint… He wasn’t picky, he was all for it. Hallucinogens were the more nah — Klaus had experienced weirder shit while sober, what with the things he normally saw, or the weird places his powers took him. Swirling multicolor spirals, and bloody eyes staring at your soul were the norm on the first spiritual dimension or two, it was hell on the human senses. Hangovers had nothing on it.

He had met the creature who had haunted Ben — Klaus was in one of those facilities who were actually _good_ at maintaining its residents sober — it was the eldritch version of a mean doggo, and was utterly adorable when it wasn’t looking for spirits to consume. The Horror had an awful habit of spitting bits of metaphysical matter that joined together and formed amalgamations of beings not-quite-beings that were atrocious and funny to witness stumbling around like toddlers.

In that same facility he had sent his spookies and got some damn good gossip on his wayward family, and by that he meant he felt like an absolute asshole when he found out about Allison’s divorce. Klaus knew her lies were getting the better of her but _yikes_.

He made the swift decision of letting the matter die and, ignoring the dread on his stomach, talked via dreams with Luther — who was on the moon instead of Vanya, fantastic — to get down off his high horse and talk with their sister, it didn’t work since Luther was the most oblivious being on the universe, but he had tried. Ben had thrown the most beautiful tantrum over the blond’s attitude, and he had laughed himself silly, so it wasn’t so bad.

Five was still very, very lost; and the List was getting more complex when it came to him, and were those equations? Yep, better to let that go — one survival guide in morse code in one of his oneiric forays was a bit too much for his tiny sexy mind to handle, Klaus hoped Five appreciated it. Diego was in the middle of his late twenties middle age crisis, many spirits were glad and avenged by his vigilante tendencies, and he was trying to get on with a lady three times his league. Klaus was happy and proud of him when Diego got to third base status, and also wanted to bleach the memory so hard he would probably never shift again.

It turned out the Creatures that followed Ben and him were _**10:00** _ _10:30 12:10 00:30 02:00 03:30 10:00 03:30 03:10 10:00 10:30_ — which was hilarious and pretty much fitted with his horror gig — and were into him. Not in a sexy way, sadly.

Halfway through his thirties, the List gave a thug on his mind... It was oppressing and made him exhilarated for some reason, similar to a shot of heroin. His skin raised in goosebumps, moisture accumulated in his brow, his heart gave a jerk of ecstasy, it was analogous to the satisfaction one got at the moment one experienced the fall of an enemy. It was Schadenfreude. What was up with his sensation? Oh.

Dad was dead.

How _sweet_.

Decision made, Klaus ran away from rehab, went to the Academy and banged on the door like the insane person he was. A sleepy Pogo responded, a tired frown on his features.

The junkie smiled disturbingly, “When and how did he die, Pogo? I want it in detail, the List is not specific enough with the juicy stuff, the massive amorphous jerk” Klaus got lost in glorious images of his dad’s suffering for a while, then he finally snapped back to reality. The monkey appeared very lost, and scared out of his mind. “Did he suffer? He had to be because—”

Pogo’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Boring. Should go to dad’s room. May find something interesting”

Not getting Klaus out of his sight, the chimpanzee slowly walked backwards with the druggie following him. The butler gulped down his sickness as he met gazes with the person now sprawled leisurely on the sofa. Green eyes, piercing and so profound, bored onto him with macabre excitement. The scrawny body gave little tremors, a symptom of reading too much into the List and of coming down from his addictions, the atmosphere choking and buzzing with unearthly energy. And Pogo just knew that he was never going to see Sir Reginald Hargreeves again.

(the List never lies, and the Timer kept on _~ticking down, my dear R___~_ )

Pogo shuddered in overwhelming terror.

Klaus grinned.

Everything from there went in a bloor, from Five’s return to burning dad’s book about their powers, to his mini-adventures with his siblings. And the fights, and the sombre ambient, and conflicting emotions.

(Mom’s broken carcass falling to the ground, a marionette without strings, a broken and useless doll.

 _Number Three was very impolite too_ )

It was good times.

Except getting kidnapped, that sucked all kinds of ass, an absolute killjoy. Klaus wanted a refund.

He was captured by people with, frankly, an alarming amount of ghosts, not Five levels — and he didn’t know how to feel about that fact. The lady unceremoniously threw him inside the truck, and closed it, grunting from the effort. Or not by the effort itself, judging by the blood slowly dripping from her lower abdomen. Not the most delightful of gents, but Klaus guessed he should suck it up and stop acting like a baby.

It would be easier if his head decided to stop pounding against his skull, and the side to side swaying of the vehicle wasn’t helping.

Klaus vomited all over the guy’s shirt as they strapped him to a chair in some rundown motel, and not in a kinky way to his absolute dismay and his ass’, damn if the chair wasn’t uncomfortable. Should it count as invasion of privacy when he was cool with the strangulation stuff? It appeared that his responses had disturbed his assailants to some extent, still what would you do when affable people offered you water, no matter the inconvenient way in which it was served?

(the crimson liquid on his brow and temple was kissing his right eye, and his cheek, and mouth.

the lights were fuzzy reflections of the unknown)

Huh, they were under the impression that they were torturing him. Which was totally hilarious. Poor guys couldn’t comprehend half the shit Klaus had been through for less, selling his own family was going to require more creativity on their part, and the only reason he knew relatively _anything_ about the Hargreeves was thanks to the Sight, the List, the Timer, and the Followers.

The lack of results made _Cha Cha and Hazel?_ have an existential crisis, it said a lot about the incompetence of their training, or the people who fashioned said training for starters. After a conversation out of a motivational post, they searched his things —points to them, it was the first distressing action they had taken against him — and came across his precious stash. He hoped they choked on a brownie.

And then Murphy decided to stick his ugly nose onto his business.

The bastards had finally noticed his bracelet. The only thing out of place in his junkie get up.

His whole being stopped, as the woman’s hand deliberately reached to unclap his most treasured possession. Klaus could feel himself shatter, could feel the otherness eager to take over again and erase any sense of being he had, and he wasn’t sober enough to conjure Ben just yet. The birthmark glowed and consumed the room in its power, a blasphemous thing full of wrongness and it _tick-tick-tick-ed_ like the most outrageous clock. The colors took on glowing shades impossible to discern from one to another to the mortal eye, for the death told no tales yet never divulged the secrets of the concealed nor the buried. The sounds manifested in insidious tinnitus, infinite in their vibrations, a warmth to their essence, vigorous and _alive_ , for they had the _tick-tick-tick-ing_ and in sounds answers thrived, for they were waves and they travelled and discovered and announced and _reached_.

The Timer, at last, had been unveiled. And it was ticking down.

To what? No one knew.

Not even its carrier.

(one of the Creatures was staring, seeing, _watching_.

Klaus wasn’t in a human mood)

The assassins, pale and sick to their very souls, scrambled for the bathroom to release the content of their stomachs.

Klaus wasn’t bothered since then.

“Five mentioned something about a prison shut down a decade ago, and some prosthetic eye belonging to one of the ex-inmates. He has been keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious or whatever” He lied easily, the hundred voices backing him up.

(actually, his mind was elsewhere.

places that flashed, inhabited by cognizant soil of the richest blue anyone has ever seen. his body was single celled, floating in the waves of all consuming wholeness. for they were one, and the one had experienced a foreboding sensation, alien to itself.

it had experienced _fear_.

his astral travels brought him up to other places too, old and mysterious, where sensations were not translated by the organism, for the self was free of such attachments. here he wasn’t singular, he was multiples, and he was no longer part of the one but of the all. the all knew itself from a myriad of bodies, large and serpentine-like, who brought texts from the corners of the universe with transcripts dating to a time with no language, a communication impossible to comprehend for the body-blessed. one in particular made the all examine itself, and it experienced an ominous emotion, native to the carcasses which served it in pious servitude.

it had experienced _fear_.

then again he was taken to a new world, yet this time they knew of him in concept, and they knew fear and terror. for they were, and they learned, and they had separated selfs and awareness. he smiled at them, eyes green as poison.

they had experienced _fear_.)

Hazel and Cha Cha nodded and choked down his weed brownies like they were a lifeline. Their little brains were not sure if anything of what had happened was real, they still ran to the door. Minds ready to destroy and feel like they had power again.

Hours passed before Klaus returned to himself, and he heard a person just outside the room, he tried to scream for anyone to come and maybe for some alcohol because he was feeling himself drifting once more. He was hyperventilating and crying like a widow by the time he noticed Ben screaming in distress.

Klaus had yet to _shift_. He didn’t know what it would do to him in this state.

From his view of the window, he saw that the woman was _gone_.

He manifested his brother in desperation, it was unstable and incomplete, who took to hugging him and whispering and nagging in the most Ben way possible. It was so relieving, he just had to laugh and laugh and _laugh_.

(the _**10:00** _ _10:30 12:10 00:30 02:00 03:30 10:00 03:30 03:10 10:00 10:30_ wanted to take Klaus with them)

“Damn it. You can’t be opening doors right now. Listen, count from one to ten in german, alright? Good. _Eins. Zwei. Drei…_ ”

The russian ghost was afraid of him, the woman shaking, it was as if she was contemplating the devil himself. An absurd thought, concepts like the Evil One and Hell were nonexistent, what was real was much _worse_. It consumed and ripped apart and took.

And it also was afraid of Klaus, like the horde of ghosts cohabitating the room.

For creatures so consumed in terror they were one green eyed glance away from crossing to the other side, they were surprisingly chatty. The old lady rambling in russian what he was damn sure were explicit details about her murder, and the others that had taken that as their cue to influx him with information were making his headache unbearable.

(Klaus was sure they were trying to save their own hides.

he was not at his best, and the dead could sense that)

> _Vier._

Oh, _shit_. He was drifting again. This time he was—

 **L** ooking

 **O** utside the realms,

 **S** uddenly he was back and

 **T** hen away once again.

 **I** t was beautiful, and terrifying, here in the

 **N** othingness, and negation.

 **I** t was asceticism but not. There was

 **N** o pleasure, nor

 **F** ixations, nor

 **I** llumination.

 **N** ever before had Klaus

 **I** nsomuch as wished for

 **T** he final release. He wasn’t

 **Y** ielding, he was breaking down.

(beady white things, that were too small to be eyes, narrowed in glee.

the Creatures didn’t have faces,

they still smiled)

> _Fünf._

Klaus was small, so petite his cones and rods and little brain were having trouble transforming light stimulus into sensation. An indigo blur on his left moved, and for some reason he felt like he knew it.

(Father is going to make us choke until we _die_ )

Klaus saw Five, and he _reached_.

> _Sechs._

The assassins returned, and they were deathly afraid of him. They had forgotten the birthmark, their minds too fragile to handle its ingrained wisdom, but were evading contact with him at all costs. The fact they unconsciously knew their prisoner had lied to protect his brother either went unnoticed, or they had chosen to ignore it.

(Ben had told him the Horror was famished, a disturbing flip to his nice demeanor.

his brother was hungry too, a want only satiated with bloodlost and gore)

Klaus’ smile was stretched too far, cadaverous in nature, his eyes were green as chlorine. Their effect on people was slow and insidious, acidic to the core.

It was most likely they had chosen to pursue ignorance.

They would never leave the cave.

> _Sieben. Acht._

Syd, glowing and visible to the human eye, saluted in Ben’s direction, a weary disposition to his body language. Klaus was no longer aware of using his powers to flicker spirits in and out of the physical plane, too immersed in his agony and discomfort to pay any attention to the doors he was opening. His brother was by his side, careful to not touch the birthmark, _the Timer_ in Klaus’ arm, the shining symbols tick-tick-ticking down, proud in their aberration and wickedness.

Syd informed Cha Cha of her acquaintance’s mercy concerning his wife, his reflection on the mirror she was contemplating unblinkingly. She shuddered when a blue hand came to rest on her shoulder, and a voice cold as death whispered things she didn’t want to acknowledge about Hazel. Klaus saw all the happenings, for he could see her fear, and taste her anxious breathing.

She thought it’s a trick of the light, and relayed the information to a pale Hazel. They contemplated killing him and putting a stop to all this nonsense, it was not like they needed the useless junkie anymore.

It was not because they were terrified of him.

(the List told him how, the Timer was ticking down,

it wasn’t his time yet)

Their denial was delicious.

> _Neun._

The assassins took refuge in the bathroom to escape Klaus’ frigid gaze, and unkind grimace. The furniture in the room began to shake, a glowing blue light surrounding each object.

The druggie was trembling and sweating, he felt more terrible, anxious and sad than earlier in the morning. It had been twenty four hours since his last drink, it had been two days since his last smoke, it had been too long.

Klaus felt _insane_.

A coffee cup, sitting innocently on the bedside desk, flew and shattered against the wall.

> _Zehn._

He took a deep, calming, breath and listened to someone outside again, he felt like crying when he saw it was Diego, and Five, and a lady he had seen his vigilante brother flirting with. This time he sent Ben to attract their attention.

He should have expected the group to freak out.

Five was the first to recover, he disappeared in a flash of blue and was standing behind him in a blink of an eye. The man in a child’s body made a shushing motion once he began to make little noises of distress, Klaus didn’t feel up for more bullshit no-drug-induced trips, and freed Klaus, not paying attention to the swirling birthmark. Instead, his brother offered him his tie to cover the Timer, and told him to hide under the bed after Klaus quickly collected his stuff with well placed telekinesis, the blue glow appearing and disappearing in mere seconds.

He couldn’t find his bracelet.

“Fuck those guys to the moon and back,” The junkie whispered to himself as he dressed as best he could under the bed. He could distinctly hear the sound of the door opening and of Diego’s quiet cursing, a habit he had since childhood and had not gotten rid off. The voice of a woman muttered harshly to him, likely to shut him up, and Five’s sharp tones joined the cacophony. Klaus squirmed in the little space he had, thank god he wasn’t claustrophobic, until he could see the proceedings from his hiding spot.

Then Hazel came out of the bathroom.

Ben’s manifestation was solid enough to hold the assassin down, the Horror purring happily to be set upon another victim after so long, and Diego pinned him to the wall with his knives, grunting a little in the process, a hand against his shoulder. Cha Cha appeared from behind Diego, gun in hand and a snarl on her face. His lady companion covered him with her own body, eyes closed in anticipation for the shot that would kill her, but Five made himself known, jumped in and tackled the woman. The time traveler took a bullet to the shoulder in the process, he snarled and squirmed around, cussing to high heaven. Cha Cha got to her feet, the click of the gun ringing on the room and, _fuck_ , she was going to _murder Five_.

He reached inside himself, a blue glow surrounded one of the knives, and ripped the weapon away from the wall. Aiming for her head, he put as much power as he could to make it go fast, hands glowing and breath heavy, adrenalin making his actions quick and calculated to the max. Cha Cha jumped to the side to avoid it yet the sharp object changed direction in the air, and nailed her hand to the floor. To Klaus’ satisfaction she screamed, and to his growing concern regarding their situation in general, she ripped it off like a motherfucking amazone warrior. In his worry and slight awe, he had failed to notice that her henchman had gotten himself out of his bounds and now he had taken the gun. Hazel pointed it to Diego and the lady, who were pressing the woman’s jacket against Five’s shoulder, which was bleeding profusely, as he carefully dragged his screaming partner ‘ _We need to finish the goddamn job, you buffon. Just. Kill. Him_ ‘ outside.

She then drew another gun from under her suit with her uninjured hand, and aimed it at Diego’s group.

Diego, expression grim and determined, gave an assent to Klaus. He in return grimaced, then returned his brother’s gesture.

And.

Klaus.

**_Shifted._ **

(the Timer was ticking down.

_tick-tock_

the List was on his mind.

_tick-tock_

the Scripture was his to understand.

_tick-tock_

the Numbers were infinite, cruel, callous and inexorable.

_tick-tock_

> _02:00 01:00 - 11:30 00:10 10:30 - 11:00 02:00 01:10 - **11:00** 02:10 03:10 01:10 10:20 , 00:10 03:20 01:00 - 11:00 02:00 01:10 - **11:00** 02:10 03:10 01:10 10:20 - 11:30 00:10 10:30 - 02:00 02:10 03:10 . _

_02:10 11:00_ ignored the crude temptation on _02:10 11:00 10:30_ veins.)

Klaus regained consciousness to a room so dark, he felt himself shiver. He gradually reabsorbed whatever he had released, a casual wave of a bright blue hand brought him a knocked unconscious Five and the babbling lady to him. Swallowing his guilt at her lost gaze, he put his palm against her brow and consumed the corruption on her feeble brain. Diego and a non-visible Ben got up from the floor, groaning and massaging their temples, as they applied their respective powers, or undead status, to clear up the static Klaus had implanted on their minds.

Being a last resort, the ‘ _project creepy to the max_ ' strategy was reserved to life and death situations. In no circumstance was it a pleasant experience.

It had the advantage of freezing, or knocking down, anyone in the vicinity — plus the ones inside the blast radius got a good old dose of existential dread that, in one year or so, would render them incapable of coherency. The bad part to it was, well, Klaus preferred mentally healthy siblings, even if they were slowly getting better at creating mental barriers and accostuming themselves to the corruption.

He dropped his cargo gently in the ground, made Ben solid — he yet had to get the trick of manifesting and using telekinesis at the same time — and signaled them to each pick up one person. Diego took the frozen, scared-shitless-but-won’t-admit-it, Five who was still bleeding pretty badly, and thus was maybe more affected by Klaus than usual. Ben dragged the lady unceremoniously to the vent and crawled inside like a cockroach, their vigilante brother sighing before following him, Klaus jumping in soon after.

After some grunting and hurried discussions, Klaus, a no corporeal Ben, and Diego somehow managed to make it to the parking lot. Patch, his brother had finally bothered to tell him her name, was using his left shoulder as support and was looking at Diego in worry, muttering to herself that he was still hurt. He decided to ignore his own concerns and guided her to his brother’s beat up car, his grip on the briefcase tightening.

Everyone got safely to Diego’s car, and they immediately planned to go to the hospital after applying some first aid and wrapping Five’s wound, Klaus also used the opportunity to take away his pollution. His brother was about to start the engine when he saw something in the rearview mirror, and stopped to examine if it was a threat. From the back, Klaus only grunted and continued to nervously fiddle with the briefcase, hoping it contained his bracelet, while he kept a watchful eye on Five.

A high pitched scream startled him out of his tinkering, and he rocked Diego back and forth to make him hurry up because they didn’t have time nor the manpower to fight those fuckers again. Klaus looked to the rearviewmirror in trepidation, and—

 _Hold on_ , he _knew_ her.

It was the donut lady! Lila… something!

(“hey, get of. i don’t like being touched by strangers” said Klaus, a donut on his mouth, getting out of the way before she tried to initiate contact again.

christ on a cracker, was she a weirdo. but he liked that about her.)

He stopped giving a grumbling Diego whiplash, and happily informed him she is not dangerous. Danger and annoyance averted, the vigilante relaxed and went back to force his damn car into submission.

“Wait!” Screamed Lila.

Klaus heard something click and he excitedly opened the briefcase. It was glowing blue, kinda reminding him of Five for some reason. _Oh_.

_Whoops!_

The last thing Klaus heard as he was enveloped by a blue light was a heartfelt “ ** _Dammit!_** ” From Lila, Diego, and Ben.

He woke up in the middle of a war, a nagging on his brain and wrist told him something was very, very wrong. That he should be scared, and had abstinence and a concussion to worry about. This era was erroneous, inaccurate, he was not supposed to be here.

But he was _so_ tired, and just wanted a nap. He was sick of being beaten, of getting hurt.

Klaus wasn’t afraid anymore.

(Number Four had never been in the first place)

Instead, he was a bad omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The. Plot. THICKENS! _Le gasp._
> 
> As an anime fan, this chapter's title was super easy xd
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I had to fix some dates to better fit the timeline (you will see that some ages changed in past chapters) and develop the code.
> 
> Language shenanigans: In spanish, gender neutrality is kind of very difficult; in german too, but the last can, at least, kind of achieve grammatically correct neutrality. So in spanish I conjugated the verbs with the masculine gender since it can often qualify as neutral too (it’s why i use masculine pronouns in romance languages and neutral in english). In german, Sie can be both she and they (tho in many sentences the plural and singular aspects come out but you can ignore that tiny detail xd), so to speak, and I thought it fit better. You can correct me in the comments if I made a mistake with german since google translate can only go so far.
> 
> The cave thing is a pun on Plato’s cave allegory, but this time you are inside a cave with chlorine, imagine someone synthesized it and hated you tremendously, and now it’s not that fun because you are a stubborn bastard and will not get out.
> 
> Fuck. Fight. Scenes. And anything remotely serious. What the hell even is good storytelling?
> 
> My diet consists of coffee, bullshit stubbornness, and comments!


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